A Day in the Life of the Poet

I wanted to write a poem,
just a verse or two for the night.
But I couldn’t find an idea,
nothing just seemed quite right.

I pondered a verse of love—
but what good would that do?
I’ve written about that topic before,
time to find something new.

A hornet appeared in my thoughts
(It was dead on the window sill)
a verse of anger seemed fitting
but didn’t give much of a thrill.

I read some poems of others—
(There are folks out there who can write!)
Looking for inspiration
but my mind put up too much of a fight.

I drifted to my unfinished odes,
thought I’d found a treasure or two,
toyed with some, words wouldn’t come,
I’d have to start a poem anew.

But my spirit would not be deterred!
My desire would not be denied!
I wanted to pen a great masterpiece,
then share it with folks with pride—

Loftier themes then came to me
of injustice, the law, and the like,
a verse to challenge societal norms
but my words were weak with no bite.

Oh why was this task so difficult?
Oh why was this poem so hard?
Where was my muse to guide me?
Time to give up and this poem discard…

Because I wanted to write a poem
just a verse or two for the night,
But I guess I'll just try tomorrow
and you know what? That’ll still be alright.